


From Shattered Places -- one shots

by lizandletdie



Series: From Shattered Places [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Burglary, Child Abuse, domestic abuse, grandparent feels, marital rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandletdie/pseuds/lizandletdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots related to From Shattered Places. May or may not include any characters, definitely includes angst. Please mind the tags for the list of triggers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an anon prompt wanting to see the first time Rhys' father hurts his mother. This certainly wasn't the FIRST time, but it's the first time he was old enough to remember.

It was his mama’s voice that woke Rhys. He was used to that, every day of his life she'd woken him up with a smile and a silly song. She wasn't singing, though, and there wasn't any daylight on the other side of his eyelids so he knew he'd woken up when he wasn't supposed to. That's when he heard his papa’s voice, too. 

 

Papa had been gone a long time and he looked different than he had the last time Rhys had remembered him. He thought his father hadn't had so many lines around his eyes and maybe whiskers like Mr. MacDonald the butcher, but this man only had short hair on his face. But Mama had said this was his father and he had to trust her. She didn't lie to him, after all. Mama always told him he had to tell the truth and she wouldn't do anything to hurt him. 

 

Papa would, though. Rhys didn't remember much about having a father, but he did remember being scared a lot of the time when he thought about it. He was just barely four, and the five months Mama said Papa had been gone was just  _ such _ a long time, after all. Papa said he’d been wearing the broad arrows and Rhys hadn't wanted to admit he didn't understand what that meant so he'd smiled and nodded and kissed the cheek of this stranger when told to.

 

He could hear his papa’s voice louder now than his mama’s and he screwed his eyes tight because he sounded angry and Rhys knew that meant bad things could happen. Usually a cop across the face or a rap to the palm of his hand but once Papa’s turned him over his knee with a switch and Rhys couldn't sit the rest of the day. 

 

“Rhys is sleeping,” Mama was saying. “You'll wake him. Please.”

 

Rhys hadn't ever heard her sound so scared in his life and that made him more scared, because Mama was the one who always protected him.

 

“If you don't want him to wake up then stop making so much noise,” Papa growled from someplace near the foot of the family’s only bed. “A man has rights in his own goddamn house!”

 

Rhys heard a sound like skin hitting skin and his mother whimpered before he felt something heavy land next to him on the bed and he could smell the comforting scent of his mother followed by the sour beer smell of his father. 

 

He didn't know what was going on, and he couldn't bring himself to look either. The bed was shaking and he tried to hide his ears from the awful noises coming from his parents. At long last, the movement stopped and all he could hear was breathing.

 

Just when Rhys was about to relax again he felt the bed shift and heard his father muttering about something a warmer welcome down at the docks before the heavy footsteps went away and the door slammed. 

 

Eventually, Rhys heard more strange noises from his mother and when he finally could bring himself to peek he realized she was crying. He'd never seen his mother cry before and that scared him worse than anything else that had happened. 

 

“Mama?” he said, taking in the way her usually beautiful brown hair was messy and tangled on the pillow and the odd bruises on her neck and cheek. Something awful had happened, he was sure. “What's wrong?”

 

“Go back to bed, love,” she whispered, swiping under her eyes quickly. “It'll all be fine in the morning.”

  
He wanted to believe her, because Mama never lied, but somehow he knew that this wasn't something he could fix. He instinctively went to her side and buried his face in her arm. She was still warm and soft and lavender scented and he loved her. She wrapped her arms around him protectively and held him tight until he finally fell asleep again knowing he was safe as long as she was here. She'd never let anything bad happen to him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Rhys couldn’t remember when he’d started working with his father, but by the time he was eleven he knew he was damn lucky he’d never been pinched. But he was small and fast and careful. Papa wasn’t the sort to pay much attention to his son, but even he had to admit Rhys made a good lookout when there was a scam to run. He wasn’t sure if his mama knew what was going on, but he really hoped she didn’t. He didn’t want her to be worried about him any more than he wanted to wind up in the stone-jug with his father.

 

At least the last few years Papa’d been involved in a different sort of schemes -- cons and spreading the broads more than burglaries, but that didn’t mean his friends were all out of the game. Papa owed Felix money, and didn’t have it to pay back which he seemed to take pleasure in telling Rhys all about. There were only so many ways they could pay it back, and what little money Rhys brought home from his job delivering for the grocer had to go towards food now that he was the only one working. Papa had given Rhys a choice of how the debt could be repaid, and Rhys was little enough to be a good snakesman. There weren’t many windows too small for him to wiggle through and Felix had his eye on a house in the classy side of town that he was sure must have some money in it. They just needed someone to let them in is all, and so Rhys had readily agreed to get boosted through a window.

 

He’d never seen so much luxury in his life as he did when he snuck through the house looking for the back door to let the men in. He’d always known they were poor but it hadn’t ever really occurred to him that other people were rich. It had always seemed a far off fantasy not even worth dreaming of.

 

There was a whole wall of books in the room he’d first landed in, and Rhys only knew enough letters to write his name. People actually had enough time to sit and read in this house. He felt an anger begin boiling up in his chest at how damn unfair the whole situation was. Everything here was beautiful and soft and he didn’t want to touch anything for fear of the dirt of him seeping into it. That thought pushed him over the edge and he wanted to take all of it for himself. He wasn’t supposed to nick anything for himself, it was all for Felix to pay off the debt, but he grabbed a few bits and bobs off shelves and dropped them into his pockets on his way to the door. Anyone who had enough money to leave silver things just sitting on the desk deserved to lose it.

 

“Took you long enough,” Papa growled when Rhys finally got the door open. The smack to his head was so expected that Rhys scarcely reacted until his father shoved an empty bag at him. “Here, help us pick through the place.”

 

Rhys nodded and returned to the office he’d been dropped into. There were bigger pieces of treasure that he’d seen in it and he wanted a chance to go through the drawers. His father went to the stairs to search for jewelry and Felix went to the kitchen for the silverware. Rhys was still fascinated by this house. Someday he’d have a big house like this with a place for his mother to stay when Papa got too hard to live with. 

 

Suddenly, there was a shout from the rest of the house and Rhys heard a scuffle and something that could have been a gunshot, and he quickly ducked under the desk. He heard footsteps through the rest of the house and then a whistle that he recognized as the coppers. They’d been found out. He cursed his father and his bad luck as there were footsteps and voices coming down the hall towards his hiding place.

 

“Nobody in here,” one of the voices called out. “Must’ve just been the two, then.”

 

As soon as he heard footsteps leading away, Rhys ducked his head out and, seeing it was clear, he dashed to the still open window and let himself out. He didn’t know where his father was now, but he wanted to be far away from this house and this life -- and he really didn’t want to risk leaving his mother.

 

He was halfway home before he remembered his pockets full of silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: Stone-jug is slang for prison. "Snakesman" is a small boy who gets boosted through a window in a burglary. Spreading the broads is three card monte.


	3. Chapter 3

Had his father ever loved him this much? The thought was as unsettling as it was unexpected. It had never occurred to Rhys to even consider the fact that his father might have cared about him at all, but something about becoming a father had made him maudlin and foolish. The moment the midwife had placed his son in his arms, the world had changed. Neal was perfect. He had big brown eyes and ten fingers and ten toes and Rhys never wanted to let go of him.

 

There was no way Malcolm had ever felt the same way, because that was too terrifying a thought to process. If his father had ever loved him, then it was possible Rhys could still turn into that man, and he couldn’t believe that. Neal was only going to know soft touches and affection, not uncertainty and violence.

 

Milah was asleep, but Rhys could hardly blame her. She’d been laboring for twenty hours with their son and she’d earned her rest. Besides, he was happy enough to be left alone with the baby a little while longer. Neal was the most beautiful thing Rhys had ever seen, and he’d never been so scared or so happy in his entire life. He’d do right by his boy, he promised himself. Neal would never have to have a moment of pain or sadness that his father could possibly prevent.


	4. Chapter 4

Neal was going to be home soon, and Rhys had to find the right words. 

 

Milah had left him. Somehow, Rhys hadn't seen that coming. He'd known she was unhappy -- God above, how could he have  _ not _ seen it? But somehow, he just hadn't thought that she would leave their son. Well, Neal was  _ his _ son now, wasn't he? Milah had agreed to give up any claim on him in exchange for a quiet divorce (or at least as quiet as could be managed). She'd fallen in love with an Irishman and wanted out. Rhys had known she'd stopped being happy with him a long time ago, but he didn't think she ever would have done something as scandalous as run off. 

 

Still, if she was going to be miserable then he'd rather she was miserable elsewhere. Neal deserved better, and he'd do what he could to keep his son happy.

 

How he was going to explain this to his son was another matter entirely. Neal had been away at school during the worst of it, but the boy knew something was wrong. Rhys could see it in his eyes at Christmas, children always somehow knew when things weren't right. He had always wanted to spare his son the worst of it, but along the way he'd still somehow managed to find new ways to hurt him. 

 

He was still searching for the words to give to his son when the sounds of wheels in the drive told him the boy had arrived. It was only a matter of moments before the eleven year old was bounding up the steps and bursting into his father’s office.

 

“Papa!” Neal exclaimed, hurrying to hug his father. “I'm finally home!”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Belle usually loved parties. She’d always enjoyed other people, and balls and dinner parties gave her a perfect opportunity to socialize. Gaston, to his credit, was always willing to accompany her while they were in London even though she knew he didn’t always enjoy them. Gaston loved being in the country, and that’s why she’d agreed to go to a party out of town with him.

She was helping her maid pick out dresses and pack them into a trunk. They’d be leaving in the morning and there was always so much to plan when one left town. Would she need a riding suit? She was only a passable horsewoman, after all. She went back and forth on it far too long before eventually deciding it was better to be prepared than not, letting her maid pack the dark green costume along with a few day dresses.

Eventually, a knock at the door drew her away from matching her gloves to her gowns and she glanced over to see her father standing in the open doorway.

“Papa!” she said cheerfully, coming to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“I thought I’d come to wish you well on your trip,” her father replied indulgently.

“You won’t be here when I leave?”

“I’m afraid not,” he replied. “I’m meeting Mr. Midas down at the docks tomorrow bright and early. One of the ships I invested in docked and I thought I’d go down and inspect the merchandise.”

She smiled at the thought of her father lurking outside a ship in port waiting to see what would be unloaded when most men of his station would at most send a man to look. Her papa had always been incredibly peculiar, though, and he liked to examine his investments personally. He always said he could tell from meeting a man if he was worth investing with, and he must be doing  _ something _ right because she’d seen his ledgers and knew that they still made more than they spent. She had enough friends whose fathers hadn’t been able to adjust to the new industrial economy to know how lucky she was.

“Where did this one come from?”

“India, I believe,” her father replied. “It’s supposed to have silk and some other luxury goods.”

“Will you bring me a present?” she asked him. She loved imported things and trying to imagine the people who had made them and used them before her, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d ever bought her something right off of a boat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, patting her on the head like he’d done when she was a child. “But only if you’re good while you’re gone.”

“Papa,” she scolded him teasingly. “I’m a grown woman, you know.”

“I do,” he said. “But you’re still my little girl.”

“I know,” she replied. “But I’m your little girl who has to finish packing now.”

Her father chuckled and gave her a little bow before he headed off down the hallway. The exchange had put her in an even better mood and Belle started humming to herself a little as she and the maid finished preparing her trunk for travel.

It wouldn’t be so bad, really. She and Gaston always had a lovely time together, and spending a few hours in a carriage wasn’t really a hardship, was it? She’d be married to the man soon enough, anyway. The wedding was finally back on track after being put off for the latest time. It was so sad that his father had died before they’d been able to get married, she’d always rather liked her uncle and she knew it had been hard on her fiance to lose his father so suddenly.

Selfishly, Belle was mostly just excited to finally be married at last. She’d known she’d marry Gaston her entire life, and first they had put it off until her debut (and her presentation to the Queen had definitely been worth postponing the engagement anyway) and then until she’d finished her season. By the time he’d officially proposed, she’d been so excited that she’d at last be a wife and be allowed to start a proper life. She also wasn’t above admitting that she was so excited to wear her debutante gown one last time at her wedding – she loved that dress and had spent hours working with the modiste to make sure it was precisely the way she’d wanted it. It was  _ perfect. _ She couldn’t wait to get a chance to wear it one last time.

Not that she didn’t enjoy her life, mind. She always had parties to go to and friends to visit, and Gaston was a willing (if reluctant) escort wherever she’d wanted to go. Which was why she’d agreed to make the day’s ride to this house party so that he could relax and take some time to be outside before they returned to the crush of the London season that he so disliked.

  
No matter how much she’d prefer to stay in town, she was sure Lord and Lady Nolan’s house party would still be simply wonderful. After all, Belle was the kind of girl who could find the good in just about any situation. And when she got back home there would be so many other things to see and do before the season finally ended. She could hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by anonymousnerdgirl on Tumblr. And yes, this is the party she was raped at.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously set after the epilogue in the main fic. Enjoy your suffering, I sure did.

Maurice was willing to take the blessings he was given. His daughter was alive, she was safe, apparently happy, and she’d just given birth to his first grandchild. It was a girl, and he was glad for it. A boy would have been too bittersweet, if circumstances had been different the boy would have been his heir, but a granddaughter he could love without mourning for what might have been.

It had taken him the entire length of Belle’s confinement to decide on a gift for her when he would meet the baby before finally deciding on a picture book for Rebecca and a hair ornament imported from Japan for Belle. He knew that it probably wouldn’t matter, and that she likely didn’t expect anything, but ever since…well, he’d been searching for ways to make her happy for a long time. It was still a little strange to see her married to a man his age, but she was being taken care of and that was all Maurice could really ask for on his daughter’s behalf.

“Hello, Papa!” Belle said sunnily when she first saw him. He’d called on her as soon as he’d gotten word that she was up to receiving him, and she was still hiding away in the nursery in a tea gown with a baby on her shoulder when he arrived. 

God, she looked so much like her mother sometimes it was like a punch to the gut, and to have her sitting there with her own daughter in the way Colette never had the opportunity to be with her was an unexpected blow to take at this happy moment.

“Hello, my dear,” he said, offering her a bow and a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to her in a pretty yellow armchair. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you,” she said kindly, and he recognized some of her old sweetness beginning to peak through. “I’ll have to take your word for it, because I’m still exhausted.”

He wanted to offer her some consolation, but he had none to give. She was the only woman he’d been in a position to see this soon after childbirth since he was a lad.

“You wear it well,” he said at last. “Motherhood agrees with you.”

“Would you like to hold her?”

There wasn’t anything he’d like more in the world, and he nodded because he couldn’t quite trust his voice yet.

Belle smiled and shifted her daughter in her arms before she passed her to him carefully. The baby was perfect, even this early when they all had a tendency to look a little bit squished. She had big, curious eyes that took him in intently and ten perfect little fingers that she had curled up to her mouth.

“She looks just like you,” he said at last. “When you were a baby you would do the same thing with your fingers.”

Belle was still smiling, and he thought that perhaps she had finally found her peace.


	7. Chapter 7

Belle wasn’t sure why she had agreed to attend the ball, except that she dearly loved Ruby and Ruby had begged her to agree. In truth, Ruby had made every accommodation for Belle that could possibly be expected of a hostess (as well as several that she never would have expected). The party was to be a masquerade, and Ruby had insisted all the guests wear masks with their costumes so that nobody would be able to recognize Belle. It was also going to be held at Belle’s father’s London house so she was comfortable there.

She’d chosen to dress as a rose for her costume. It was a white dress that had red fabric draped in layers around the skirt to mimic the petals of a rose. The bodice was adorned with sprays of silk roses, and her mask was a papier mache half-mask with roses painted on it. She loved everything about her costume – she loved the way the fabric draped and the hint of decolletage that bordered on daring for a married woman and that she didn’t have to worry about covering herself up because no one would know that it was her. She could behave however she wanted without fear of starting a new round of rumors.

It was very freeing to be without fear of scandal for a few hours. Since becoming a mother, Belle was even more acutely aware of maintaining an impeccable image as much as she could manage. People seemed to have mostly gotten bored with her story, but she didn’t want to give gossips a reason to turn on her again and certainly didn’t want to risk Rebecca’s reputation by reigniting that whole scandal all over again.

So, Belle was full of mixed emotions as her husband handed her into their carriage that night. He was wearing old fashioned evening wear which he’d had lined with red satin and carrying a matching red mask with horns, making him a very handsome Mephistopheles. She had no idea at all where he’d even gotten that tuxedo and cape, which must have been some twenty years out of style, but the whole outfit was just perfect for him. Her husband had always had an appreciation for darker things, and truth be told so did Belle these days. She felt whole now, and happy, and nothing was going to take that away from her.

When the carriage turned up the drive to the party, Rhys helped Belle put her mask on before she helped with his. It was going to be their last quiet moment for the rest of the night, and she wanted to savor the feel of it for just a moment longer. She leaned forward quickly and captured his lips for a kiss, practically melting into him when his arms came around her and pulled her in. It was only for a brief moment before the carriage stopped, but it was a good feeling that helped her buoy herself against the nervousness she wasn’t sure she’d ever completely lose around crowds. It was alright, though, because it was better than it had been before.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” he said just before handing her down to the footman. He sometimes tried to make her blush, and after three year of marriage she’d have assumed that she wouldn’t be so flattered by him still. And yet, here she was, just in love as she’d ever been. It was such a good life that they had now.

The party was great fun. She was sure she’d spotted Ruby and Gaston as Red Riding Hood and a wolf, though if anyone had recognized her they were polite enough not to mention it. She had even danced a few times, although not nearly as much as she would have done in her younger years. It was nice to just be out in her old world again for a few hours, though.

She had retreated to the refreshments to get some punch when she was first aware of a man watching her. He was dressed as a musketeer with a mask that had a long nose on it. She didn’t quite recognize him through the mask, but he did look familiar somehow. The whole experience was unsettling and she had to stifle the urge to run. It was just a party, and he probably thought she was someone he knew. It was nothing to fret over, she just had to find her husband for absolutely no reason, just because she loved him and wanted him nearby.

Rhys was hardly the only Mephistopheles at the ball, and Belle didn’t see him in the refreshments room. She slipped through the crush of people towards the ballroom and searched again, wishing not for the first time she wasn’t so very short. It was so hard to search for anyone and she was pushing through the swells of people searching for a way to get any kind of vantage point over the crowd. Finally, she found a clearing near the band where she could at least see around the dancers and scanned the crowd searching for the red mask and her husband’s distinctive cane. 

Instead, she saw the man in the musketeer’s outfit. He’d followed her into the ballroom and was still looking at her. The hair on the back of Belle’s neck stood up on end and she felt the old chill run down her spine. Why would he pursue her here? She was starting to feel the same pervasive fear she’d been used to in the early days of her marriage beginning to creep back into her heart. It was like a cold claw reaching inside of her and she had the overwhelming urge to get away. 

She tried to slip back into the crowd, using the same petiteness that had kept her from finding her husband to hopefully disguise herself as she made her way out onto the back balcony. If she could get to the street she could find a cab and get a lift home, or even summon her own coach to take her home and return for Rhys later. He would understand, he’d even support her choice. She just had to get away and get home to Rebecca…

The cool night air hit her lungs as soon as she was through the door, and helped steady her. She’d make her way through the side garden to the front and talk to the footmen. It was hardly unusual for a woman to fall ill with a headache or the vapors during a ball, and she could have a note sent for her husband telling him where she’d gone. It would all be all right, she just had to get out of here.

There was a noise behind her of a throat clearing and she spun around to see the musketeer again. She felt faint, and fell hard against the railing as panic overtook her. She hadn’t been imagining anything, he’d followed her and she’d stupidly trapped herself out here where there were plenty of dark places to drag her and not nearly enough witnesses.

She must have screamed or something, because he took a step back towards the building and then suddenly Rhys was there. He brushed past the other man and took his mask off as he approached her.

“What the hell is going on?” he said and she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the stranger but she didn’t care because he was beside her and holding her so she couldn’t fall over.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger said, pulling his mask off. “I really didn’t mean to frighten her.”

It took Belle a moment to recognize David Nolan, whose house party she had been defiled at. She hadn’t spoken to either him or his wife since the event, and hadn’t been aware that they’d even be here. She felt anger begin to rise up and overtake the terror now that Rhys was here and she knew the identity of the mystery man who had been chasing her, but she couldn’t even speak. She was completely drained of all energy.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Rhys said softly and slid her mask up to rest on the top of her head. She’d forgotten she was even still wearing it.

“I’m fine,” she replied. Her voice was shakier than she’d thought it would be but she just felt so relieved to be safe.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rhys said, turning back to David Nolan. “Do you make it a habit of following women outside balls?”

“I just wanted to see how she was feeling,” Lord Nolan replied a little defensively as his eyes darted towards her. “I haven’t seen her in a few years, and wanted to make sure she was all right. We parted under poor circumstances.”

She could have laughed at the absurdity of it. He’d scared the dickens out of her in an attempt to check on her. It was like something out of a farce.

“She’s fine,” Rhys shot back. “Or was before some fool stalked her through a party.”

She nodded in agreement, hoping it was good enough to get him to leave her alone.

“That’s...good,” Lord Nolan replied, glancing between her and Rhys. “Lady Belle, please let me know if you need anything?”

He was smart enough to retreat back into the party quickly – though not smart enough to not have scared her – but she was just thankful to be alone with her husband where she was safe.

“How’d you find me?” she asked once her heart had stopped beating.

“I saw you leave the ballroom,” he replied. “I could tell something was wrong, so I followed you.”

She smiled and embraced him tight. He was her rock, and always had been since they’d been married.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked her, stroking her curls off the back of her neck comfortingly.

“I think so. I miss the baby, and it’s been a long night.”

“It has,” he replied, sliding her mask back down to cover her eyes. “We’ll go get the carriage and get you home. Safe and sound.”

**Author's Note:**

> Historical note: "broad stripes" is slang for a prisoner's uniform, so Malcolm was referring to being in prison.


End file.
